Green Fission
by Frickadilly
Summary: The biggest threats are those that are intangible. His biggest fear is that which makes no sense. A Spock-centric story focused on bullying. Warnings: Xenophobia, Suicide attempt, psychological abuse, sexual suggestions
1. Prologue

Title: Green Fission**  
**Fandom(s): Star Trek TOS/Reboot (I wrote it with both versions in mind)**  
**Characters/Pairings: Spock, OCs, Kirk (no slash)**  
**Rating: R**  
**Genre: Angst, drama**  
**Warnings: Xenophobia, Suicide attempt, psychological bullying, sexual suggestions**  
**Summary: The biggest threats are those that are intangible. The biggest fear is that which makes no sense.**  
**A/N: I don't own the rights to the original series or the new movies of Star Trek. I am borrowing the characters and concepts for non-profit creative purposes.

It was a small, bleak space station on which Captain Kirk was currently stranded; little more than a length of piping drifting aimlessly through space. It was a necessary place without luxuries; nobody was there who didn't have to be.

And as Kirk steamed in the sterile waiting room, he tried for a hundredth time to make sense of his own presence here; the chain of events that led him to this timeless tube in an expanse of space so empty and unremarkable it was worthy of non existence. Like being dropped in a dream, he once again failed to trace the contingency. It wound out of the window and veered off into the emptiness like a dying firework.

Before him was the door that emblemised the limits of his understanding; the stopper in time through which the men and women in white coats entered and left efficiently, rarely meeting his eyes. When they did they were cold and clinical. They thought they were above this insanity because they could touch it, map it according to a hundred other cases, paw at it and stitch it up to some minimum state of recovery. Words like 'stress' and 'psychosis' were carefully placed around him, as though he were a wild animal to be coaxed out of hiding with the passive prospect of food. When he tuned in, they put down other things. _Mental incompatibility. Hybrid Syndrome._ Those phrases sat opposite him in the vacant chairs of the waiting room, staring at him and waiting to be confronted.

He would have been a fool to believe the doctors understood this any better than he did. They didn't know Spock beyond the pale flesh that betrayed him. They didn't know that it didn't make sense for the world behind that door to exist if the man in it was Spock; if the green rivers on the white tiled floor had mapped the body of his first officer whom having left the enterprise for just a month, was gone a week and then attempted suicide.

Doctor McCoy had requested to be present during the statement from Captain Hunter. He'd been granted this liberty informally on account of his friendship with the other Captain, and formally in the position of Spock's doctor. In truth his doctoring had not extended further than his initial visit to the examination room: a trip to simply verify the truth of the incident, and one that had haunted his eyes upon his exit, at which point his restless appetite for understanding had taken over, and he had pursued his old friend. He had looked angry, but accepted the hand Hunter placed on his back; he knew the man too well to blame him. This was a broad, nauseating anger that could not be offloaded anywhere, and in the midst of it he had taken little interest in Kirk beyond a quiet growl at the nurse - "don't let him in until he's stable." Kirk had been too lost to respond.

He found himself staring hard at the door. Six days. Not even a week. Six days in which the logical, witty and graceful man to which he had bid farewell before his first officer's temporary transferral to the _Great White_, had suffered a breakdown and attempted to end his life. For the past hour he'd been terrified of Spock succeeding, but now that he was stable, a new fear took its place. A fear that there was no good reason for this.

Captain Hunter was a good man. A skilled captain and great fun to be around. He'd known him at the academy and frequently spent time with him and McCoy when they were on shore leave. Those of the crew he knew were friendly and competent, and those he didn't would not be less than a man of Hunter's calibre would demand of his crew. Kirk had been furious upon encountering the other Captain at the station, demanding to know what his friend had been subjected to on his ship. But now it was clear the man was just as shocked as himself. There had been no abuse, he'd insisted. All he could say was that Spock had been having a hard time adjusting to work aboard the _Great White_. He had had trouble mixing with crew members, but there was no aggression on their part. And almost guiltily, Kirk found himself considering this, even as he sat praying for his friend. Hunter's vessel was everything he knew - regular human officers who knew what they were doing and maintained a pleasant, upbeat atmosphere in which to work. Hunter was an honest, straight-talking man. A friend. It would have taken something monstrous to drive Spock to this. There were no monsters aboard that ship.

And that was what made Kirk linger before entering the examination room after learning that Spock was stable. He had been desperate to see his friend, and all but burst through when he first arrived. But now he was afraid of what would meet his eyes when he opened that door. The gravity of what Spock had done had settled upon him in the waiting room, and the reality behind the door had melted into something abstract and incompatible with the fabric of his world. Feelings had heaped up behind it, anger and fear and guilt. How would Spock look at him? What could he say? How would the man he knew break through what he had done unscathed, and what was left if he couldn't? Kirk knew Spock out was of logic. And when the logic didn't come, his own storm of emotions would inevitably fill the void, because it wasn't the Spock he knew who had betrayed himself and everyone who valued him and all but torn out Kirk's heart. And Kirk was afraid he would never forgive him for what he had tried to do.


	2. Day 1

"At ease posers, there's someone I'd like you to meet. This here's Spock of Vulcan, our new lab temp. He's gonna help keep this tin can airborne while scientists back home work out the cure for idiocy. I trust you'll all show him the respect befitting for Captain Kirk's former first officer; help him settle in, show him around, make a space for him at the poker table, yadayadayada."

McCoy murmurs at the Captain's side, "I wouldn't recommend that last one," naturally commencing where his old friend ceases in a relay that exposes the depth of their friendship. "He has the royal flush up his sleeve. Vulcan telepathy, Vulcan stoicism...take a look at that poker face."

Spock itches from the uninvited attention inflicted on him by the Doctor, who always holds himself in such a guarded manner when doing so; a distant tenderness, but nevertheless a liberty. He chastises him with the wit required to preserve his dignity. "It's just as well I do not care for the game anyway. There is...too little challenge for my tastes."

Captain Hunter gives a shy smile, diluting it over his crew as if unsure where to land it. Dr McCoy just raises his eyebrows, his gaze lingering on the Vulcan. "Don't say I didn't warn you, he's one of a kind." His attention snaps from Spock to Hunter, his voice changing key. "Well I guess I'd better be going."

The young Romulan science intern is quick to scramble out of Hunter's shadow. "Allow me to escort you back to the transporter room, Doctor. I'm sure my new colleague has much to discuss with the Captain." He's wearing his trademark grin, his dimples deep as his ridges, and the faintly paternal Bones is pleased.

"Well that's very kind of you Romi. Joe it's been a pleasure, as always. Give my regards to Betty on your next land; as a matter of fact we ought to get together sometime. I miss the old days, not to mention your lady's cooking."

Hunter sucks his teeth. "Well what can I say, she knew all it took to tie me down. And don't give it a second thought, Lenny, you're always welcome at the ranch. Lord knows we're both due for a dose of the good life. All this extra-planetary stuff is enough to make you forget who you are."

McCoy's eyes, milky blue, meet the thought and ache sincere agreement, and then he drops them, producing instead a loud and flat farewell. "Good luck men." Spock is spared any final liberties, and the doctor accompanies the Romulan off the Bridge.

The Captain turns to face Spock straight on. "Well Mr Spock, it's an honour to have you aboard. I'm afraid we're not the most insightful company - "

"Hey, speak for yourself, why don't you."

"Can it Einstein." He promptly abandons the distraction. "Anyway I'm sure you must be looking forward to getting back in the lab again after so long in the firing line. Unfortunately we're a little short handed here on the Bridge at the moment; that idiot Finlay gave himself food poisoning trying to cook lamb shanks the 'old fashioned way', which to him means heating an open vent grate with his phaser. Thought himself in the clear until he ran off the deck two hours ago without a word of warning. If you ask me the idiot's lucky he didn't land himself in sickbay for a much worse casualty. Can you believe that?"

For lack of anything better to say, Spock finds himself nodding confidently. "Yes sir."

The Captain pauses. "Right, well, that said we'd appreciate your help out here for the evening. Romi will keep the research warm for you in the lab. After that you'll only have to put up with these jokers at lunch and of course our all important and might I stress _mandatory_ bar nights."

A female voice is tossed his way without any introduction. "Don't mind him Spock, that's how he makes friends. Brute force."

"Your ass will be the next friend I make if it's brute force you have in mind, Lilith." And then everyone is smiling, including the female lieutenant, a small woman in her mid twenties with matted black lashes and a controversial fringe. "Now Spock this is your work station. You got your data-feed monitor here, keypad here...standard set-up, you get the idea."

Spock takes moment to swiftly comprehend the system, saving another to survey the crew. One of the navigators is sitting cross-legged on his seat, the female lieutenant is now perched on the armrest of the captain's chair, and the surveyor opposite is neglecting his clipboard in favour of an ornament hanging from one of the observation screens that depicts three chubby green monsters, which he has taken to spinning idly on its string.

"Is every member of the crew human, Captain?"

"Afraid so, apart from Romi of course. He's a great kid." He cocks his head. "You don't got a problem, right? Kirk said you'd be cool with us."

"I was merely curious, Sir. I would be a poor science officer if I was so particular about my colleagues."

Captain Hunter nods indulgently. "Well that's mighty big of you. Ain't he a sport guys?"

A few intrigued smirks are exchanged, and Spock adopts a default stare at whatever is ahead of him, eyes opaque and decidedly disinterested.

"Okay sport, I've logged you on in administrative mode. If Finn's off again tomorrow I'll get you his password so you can trash his account for landing you with his workload. We're pretty relaxed up here but we get things done, so I'm gonna need all the incoming data processed nice and fast. I'm sure I can count on you to know what you're doing."

Spock is already scanning the catalogue of data that accompanies the computer. He locates the current star date and does a search on the database. Following a flurry of alternate glances at the monitor and the catalogue, he is forced to turn to the Captain.

"Captain, the regular officer has hand-written sections of today's data in the catalogue and neglected to process fully it on the system."

"Having trouble reading Finn's handwriting, eh?"

"I am confident I can decipher any human scrawl. However, I will need to translate all of today's data on the system first. Officials will not be able to follow this."

"That's okay Spock. Finn enters all the information in full at the end of his shift. He handwrites it during the choppy stints to keep up with the rest of us. Accurate processing's a high-intensity job for a human, and there's never a dull moment on this ship. It's all in standard Starfleet short-hand though, so it should be easy enough for you to work from the last couple of lines."

Spock takes a breath, and proceeds in an extra-reasonable tone. "Be that as it may sir, if there is an emergency, this data has to be legible any humanoid species. I shall have to interpret and rewrite this data before I can proceed. The last few lines simply aren't enough."

One of the navigators barks their way. "Hey we're on course here, man! We need you up to speed!"

"We will be at greater risk if I do not translate the data in its entirety. I can only confirm the current conditions by studying the whole entry . If there is a mistake it will compromise the whole course."

The Captain calmly spins on his chair to face him. "If you don't work in sync with the others, it will definitely compromise us. We'll have to slow down for the rest of the crew to accommodate your intake, and even then it could cause an accident."

"But then it would be an honest accident, sir. We would have followed protocol and kept the data in standard script. If my interpretation is wrong and there is an accident, we are both liable."

"As the Captain I can authorise the risk, Spock. I will be liable, not you. For security reasons I insist on the catalogue being Finn's priority. A material record of personal imprints is a hell of a lot less vulnerable to cyber theft, forgery, system errors, viruses, enemy spyware, you name it. We're more likely to encounter those threats than a lone alien Starfleet official in immediate need of thoroughly coded data."

This is a compelling argument. Starfleet is a primarily human organisation. _Primarily._ It has a duty to maintain communication with non human members, especially where a lack of it compromises their ability to excel at what they do best. Spock swallows before resolutely meeting the Captain's eyes. "It is not a decision I would like to be a part of."

"Okay, Spock, I get it. It's your first day, you're not feeling too confident, you don't want to make a mistake right off the bat."

"The chances of my being mistaken are almost negligible. It is merely a matter of - "

"I said I get it. Relax." The Captain dismounts his chair and ambles to Spock's workstation, wordlessly flipping through the catalogue, before referring to the stream of data on the monitor and beginning the processing from the most recent point. Upon remembering Spock's existence, he glances back, and motions towards his chair before muttering dryly, "have a seat."

Spock's hands feel heavy with nothing to occupy them. He has no desire to idly pose as the Captain while everyone around him works. "May I join Romi in the laboratory Sir?"

"Nope, he's got it covered." The Captain's eyes do not stray from the screen until he finds a break in the data stream, at which point he turns to address the Vulcan with renewed optimism. "Now Spock, for future reference, let me give you a lesson in Finn's handwriting..."

The rest of the shift consists of Captain Hunter teaching Spock the English alphabet according to Officer Finlay's schizophrenic right hand, while Spock hovers helplessly before submitting to the vacancy of the Captain's chair. Hunter drawls loudly between dives of diligent processing. _Now this, believe it or not, is Finn's signature, next to my name right there, although he's misspelt 'Joseph' again... Now this looks like a three but it's just the way he does his Zs, you know with the curly tail...this here says 'see pic' by which he means 'picture'...should be 'fig' really but he uses that for graphs - look here see? Looks kind of like a number right? Don't be fooled by those weird Gs of his, sometimes people write them straight...now why don't you have a go at reading this back to me?_

Before it is over his pride is numb, and he is no longer intent on listening. Finally the Captain settle for silence, having grown bored of his own voice when he realised everyone else had.

"Yo, how long until - "

"Give me a minute...decreasing speed...confirming cruise co-ordinates..."

"While we're young, yeah?"

"That's it! Vacant space seven thousand miles. Cruising for 30 minutes starting now."

"Thank God. Lil get us some drinks will ya?"

"Slob. Get your own. I'm going for a shower."

"Then we'll be thinking of you at the bar...seriously. I'm picturing it right now."

"I'll bet. Come to think of it I could go for a quick one."

The crew members rise, and Hunter starts to cross the room, stopping at the Captain's chair and spinning the motionless Spock round to face him. "Well Captain, you coming?" He barely smiles when he makes his jokes, supplying only a hint of one, as though daring his company to do the rest.

Spock swallows, fatigued by the whole situation and eager to draw a line under it. "Could you direct me to my quarters, Captain?"

"Tired out eh? Don't worry, the hard work's over for today." Then he projects his voice over the rabble. "Beer time."

And then Spock knows he's lost his attention, as it is withdrawn as abruptly as ever. Without knowing where his quarters are, he makes the hasty decision to follow along and extract the information as efficiently as possible once he has indulged them to an acceptable degree.

Nobody pays him any attention when the first round of drinks is bought. Spock does not expect them to include him in the round, and so is forced to gracefully refuse the beverage that is casually propelled across the bar towards him.

"I'll take that." Lilith sweeps the beer in response, perhaps to save him from the dismay of the others. None of them mind paying for Lilith to have an extra drink. She slips back into the heart of the throng, where she is the subject of a string of suggestive remarks, none of which she appears to mind; Spock senses these men know where to draw the line with regards to their female colleague. Spock is eager to ask about his room but there is no adequate break in the firing of scarcely coherent banter, each line of which breeds an excessive family of frivolous replies. It is only when Spock gives up and requests an ice water from the grunting bartender that one of the navigators turns to address him.

"You got a special lady, Spock?"

Spock is grateful for the attention, although he finds the question distasteful. He senses a need to build bridges, and assumes an accommodating countenance as he educates his company. "I have a partner who is to become my bondmate; she is what humans might call a fiancé."

Ash, the navigator, gulps down a gullet-full of beer and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Well congratulations. I wonder what she did to land herself such a catch."

Spock holds his head high, his eyes full of patience. "We were betrothed when young. It is the Vulcan custom."

"But you're half human, right?" The man waggles his empty bottle at him.

"Yes..."

"So wouldn't it make just as much sense for you to do it the human way? You know like, sweet-talk, fancy dinner, sex, ring?"

Lilith seizes his shoulders from behind and casts her cropped hair in his face. "It's that simple, huh. You dog."

"Be that as it may, I identify as Vulcan, and accept all aspects of a Vulcan life."

"But you work with humans, right?" This was the surveyor, who had hopped over the bar in the absence of the bartender and was now helping himself. "Isn't that like, the human life? I mean you must have been with other girls." He leans over the counter to Spock, but his subtlety does not extend further than that. "You're not a virgin, right?"

"Oh come on Chuck!"

"Hey I'm just sayin! I mean, your fiancé, she's full Vulcan, right?"

Spock remains agreeably stoic. "She is."

"So she's just as different to you as you are to us. I guess it's kind of like you marrying one of us, right?"

"Dream on, lover-boy."

Roger, the second, somewhat effeminate navigator, inclines his lanky frame towards the Vulcan. "Don't mind him Spock, he likes them exotic."

Chuck shakes his head in sync with a can of soda and aims the latter at Roger, threatening to pull the tab.

Ash ignores them and presses Spock."So your parents. Which is the Vulcan and which is the human?"

"My father is Vulcan, my mother human. They live together on Vulcan, my mother having also embraced a Vulcan existence."

Ash smirks, satisfied by something. "Wow. Love really does know no bounds."

"Hey, I think it's cute." Lilith whines. "I mean for her to sacrifice a normal life for him..."

Roger coughs behind his drink. "He must have had something real big to recommend him."

Spock decides he's indulged enough. He is no longer concerned with asking the way to his quarters, now resolved to seek them out himself. "Excuse me. I must retire."

Captain Hunter is sat by the door, engrossed in whatever is on his transmitter. Spock passes him and he speaks loudly without looking up. "Other way, Mr Spock."

Spock stops, takes a breath, and turns, proceeding down the opposite corridor without sparing a glance at the reactions of those at the bar.


End file.
